Author's Note:
Just some info I thought you might find useful.
Victors of District 4:
Tang: won Games 16, killed by Mags year 17 while attempting to murder Lucius Achlys.
Nori: formerly disfigured Lycorias street girl and drug dealer. Joined FLASH at 14. Won Games 24 at 18 (57 years old in this chapter). Arena with all the drugs.
Chelsea: Won Games 34 at 18 (47 years old). Little information given. Mags spoke to Marquise during that victory tour.
Gilly: won Games 52 at 18 (29 years old). Hates darkness and shies away from physical contact. Was searched by peacekeepers during her victory tour and lashed out.
Eirene: Won Games 57 at 18 (24 years old). Bulimic, was prostituted year 61. Mags and her were "kidnapped" by Boggs during Eirene's victory tour.
Warning: long chapter ahead. Thank you all for your reviews, they're brilliant! Enjoy^^.
Year 63, January, Creneis.
Mags embraced the sight of the silver ocean and the tall waves crashing against the cliff below. They walked in silence, Cereus' warm hold on her hand in stark contrast with the chilly breeze. It was a marvelous day, and Mags relished in those intimate moments, the breath of fresh air before they were sucked once more in a whirlwind of crisis and duty. Not that Mags regretted it, it was the life she had chosen.
"How much longer can we pretend we haven't heard them?" Cereus whispered in her ear.
Mags grinned at the sea. The crunch of boots on the gravelly path was unmistakable. How nice would it be if they all forgot them during a day.
"They would be running if it were urgent," she replied, not feeling guilty in the least.
"I'm retired," Cereus grumbled, his eyes crinkling. It was their private joke. Mags doubted any of them would ever retire.
Ten years ago, at the ripe age of sixty-two, Cereus had given up his uniform, but to the barracks he was still the man to go to when you had a problem, the voice between the townspeople and the peacekeepers. It was a precarious position, because it was too easy, to lose the trust of one party by favoring the other.
Mags squeezed Cereus' hand harder as they turned towards the two peacekeepers. "Who is the man next to Aleyn?" she muttered.
"Richard, he's one of Valerians'. Rotated here last July."
"Hello, officers," Mags said cheerfully.
"You want the good but double-edged news or the weird news, Commander?" Aleyn said, his infectious cheer bringing a smile to Mags' lips.
Sergeant Aleyn, Legend's son, was Cereus' second in all but name. He had his father's toughness and his mother's spirit and Mags was happy to have that little piece of her old guard watching over Creneis Town.
Her smile widened all the more, because for all his speeches, Cereus wasn't immune to flattery, and 'Commander' got to him in just the right way.
"The one that involves Richard first," Cereus said.
Richard saluted. "Snow wants to hold a proper memorial service in One in March, about Mrs. Achlys' assassination. You are invited, Mags."
Mags' eyebrows shot to her hairline. What had happened in One for Snow to want to divert the attention like this? Using Achlys' memory all the more? Was March even significant? She turned to Cereus, she would speculate later.
"Can he be my plus one?" Mags said with a hopeful smile at her husband.
"That's between you and Mr. President," Aleyn replied with a nervous chuckle.
"I'll be spending the ceremony glued to Valerian then," Mags said wryly. That dear, tough old man. Reaching eighty was heroic in any district, and even now, bound to a wheelchair, his letters dictated to someone with steadier hands, he regularly visited the barracks, making sure the standards didn't drop. Mags' thoughts drifted away to Leander, Marquise's son. She'd had no news since Arcelio's death, eight years before. Leander had every reason to hate her.
"The weird news, Aleyn?" Cereus said.
"The kids seem to be holding a garden party in Victors' Village," Aleyn said. "Finnick Odair brought them. They're staying off the properties for now."
Mags and Cereus shared a long glance. They headed back towards the village.
Aleyn hadn't exaggerated. There were over a dozen children, ranging from ages nine to fourteen.
"They aren't from FLASH. Some are his former classmates," Mags whispered, her surprise only increasing.
Nori watched from her terrace, her stance hardly inviting, but Chelsea and her sister looked delighted, handing out ice creams to the squealing little dears. Chelsea would be delighted… Mags smiled. She wasn't surprised to see that Gilly remained safely in her house and it was too early for Eirene to be back from FLASH.
Finnick stood nearest their house, seemingly in discussion with a smaller group of older children. They hadn't seen them yet.
Cereus pulled Mags to a gentle stop, his hold on her arm almost a caress. He was still fit for his age, bushy white hair falling all over his face and giving him that adorable boyish look. Mags' inquisitive smile was slightly strained despite how hard Mags tried to push that particular fear down. Cereus was a man of seventy-three and she couldn't forget that.
"Volunteers are murderers," one of the boys accused.
A sigh escaped Mags' lips, throwing mud over the idyllic scene before her. Children merrily playing in Victors' Village was a fantasy. She was lucky to have respect, but there had been too much blood spilt for easy love between the townsfolk and the survivors of the Hunger Games.
Finnick had balled his fists, ire flushing his face. "If there weren't no volunteers, you could get reaped, Eider," he heatedly said. "These people save your life. These people are why your parents aren't afraid to take tesserae. You should respect them!"
Eider lost his bluster for a second before it came back full force. "Don't they show you the vids at FLASH, Finn? They go in there to kill people!"
Finnick's face hardened. "No."
Eider frowns, his anger snuffed by Finnick's unwavering confidence. He shook his head confusedly. "Then what?"
"They go because they don't care if they die. They go because their life only matters as long as they win and when they do, they make up for what they did a thousand times."
"Don't they have friends or family?" The blonde girl next to them challenged, her voice uncertain.
"Many at FLASH have friends, some have family, real, good family," Finnick said, his tone very grave. "But those who volunteer are different. They need to win. And when they do, they bring you food and money and Creneis, all of Four, gets wealthier. Don't be hypocrites."
"My granda got his first job making houses when Mags launched the projects," the girl said. "Back when he was alive, he always made sure we never forgot that. I guess it's alright."
Mags realized she was smiling like a silly little girl. She didn't need compliments to know what she was doing was necessary. She wasn't so self-centered as not to see that she respect she had earned was rooted in gratitude, but she couldn't help the warmth blossoming in her chest.
A sharp elbow collided with her side. Mags turned to see Cereus grinning and Mags knew she would do anything for that grin. That grin that promised honesty and no power plays and that made her special just by being her.
"Go hug him, he's growing up," Cereus said. "He's so proud to have brought them up here."
"Finnick," she called, a smile dancing on her lips.
Finnick whirled towards them and gave her tentative grin, his expression hopeful. He took a nervous breath when he reached Mags' side and Mags marveled at how tall he already was.
"It makes me mad when I hear them talking and they make you into something that you're not," Finnick admitted. "I thought, by making them come here, they'd stop getting all these weird ideas."
Mags hugged him, unable to convey how touched she felt. Even her own children hadn't tried so hard. They'd worn her status as victor like a badge of honor, striving to make her proud and quick to defend her and Cereus, but they'd never gone out of their way like this to include her and Cereus in village life.
"Why didn't you ask us if they could come?" Mags said, curious.
Finnick's beautiful green eyes were steady and certain. "Because if you'd ever thought it'd work you'd have done it years and years ago. It's lonely here, and… Dad loves you, you know, but he fears you, and I don't understand why. Everybody thinks that Creneis is so much better with you here, but they're scared, except maybe of Chelsea," he added, turning towards the woman with a rueful smile. "It's easy to forget what she did when you see her at the orphanage."
Mags smiled when Chelsea cheerily waved at them. Chelsea was sweet and social, fleeing power and responsibility but gentle and warm around young children. With her large glasses and laughing eyes, she was the funny older cousin they didn't have, the one full of fairytales and wild stories. Mags doubted anyone could ever think her threatening now.
"And you think you can make it work, Finn?" Mags said. She would get used dangerously quickly to the laughter rebounding of the walls.
Finnick tilted his chin up. "I'm popular. It's my job to make people like you if they can't see it on their own. My favorite aunt taught me that."
Mags swallowed, her eyes bright. "You're growing into an amazing young man, Finnick Odair."
Year 63, late March, Galene.
It was a stormy relationship that she had with Galene. That town had been Four's little corner of hell, then they'd brought safety to the glass factories and they'd built a center to train peacekeepers and that had changed everything.
And now the center had been shut and stripped to the ground. For over thirty years it had been a fixture of Galene's landscape, for thirty years Mags had come once a month to see those youngsters grow into soldiers and protectors. For another dozen, fourteen-year-olds had come to be tested before being sent to District Two. Now no more peacekeepers would come from Four. Mags didn't have so much a word of explanation from Snow, but while curiosity burned, his silence was also comforting. They hadn't had a word, not once since their first meeting, and Mags hoped it meant that he didn't feel challenged by anything she did.
She briefly thought of Valerian, still so proud in his wheelchair, wearing his uniform as if he'd never taken it off.
"The network is still alive, Mags," he said, grasping her hand. "It'll outlive me. The gold miners sabotaged the tunnels and set fire to the beams. They are tired of having to pretend they do not exist. Their pension privileges were cut three years ago, I think President Snow is finding his system of management much more costly than Achlys' was." Valerian smiled. "It is quite satisfying to see him fall back on Achlys' name to strengthen his rule. His hold on Panem is not as solid as he would have us think."
The center was gone and Galene dragged its feet, shoulders bowed, aware the golden days were over, hoping against hope that the budget for factory safety would not be cut.
"Old people, always so nostalgic," Gilly said with a huff, breaking the silence. "The day is warm, the birds are singing, smile Mags, you are being watched." Her voice turned wry. "We're always watched, those nosy people."
They always came with her: Nori and Gilly. Chelsea preferred the escape of books and tales, inventing herself a fictional life, writing into the deep of night and sharing her stories with the orphanage children, and Eirene still battled against herself day after day, gaining an inch every week. Mags would give her all the time she needed, and was ever so glad Eirene would not be made to mentor for at least another year. Snow still was struggling with all the damage done by the half-dozen videos Glynn had released. What a silly idea to keep cameras in the inhumane cells holding Capitol citizen suspected of treachery...
Gilly bounced about, her brown hair in bunches, a cheerful child of twenty-eight, as if it was her first fieldtrip.
"How many did Goby say we could fetch?" Nori asked, always so organized with her notes and books.
Jorah Goby now owned the orphanage in Creneis, which had expanded from the small cozy shelter of his grandmother's days to a social facility for the abused children they found, those too young or too ill-suited for FLASH. There were other shelters, and many did a fair job, but none matched Goby's when it came to making them adjusted and happy.
"Twenty, Nori," Mags supplied.
Social control was strong in Four, and while that meant trouble for vocal rebels, it meant few got away with hitting spouse or child. It didn't erase every trouble, and some abuse was silent and stealthy, but the tight-knit community helped, a lot.
Mags, Nori and Gilly came twice a year, and people came to them in the Justice Building, sometimes even peacekeepers. They often came for FLASH, sometimes to ask for money for a project or another, and Mags was happy to contribute when she could.
Nori sat behind the desk, Mags right next to her. Gilly remained behind, silent around strangers, uncomfortable with crowds even now, but her eyes missed nothing.
"He's gifted, my middle child. He's gifted but complicated," the woman said. "I can't find an apprenticeship, but he'd make a hefty builder. Maybe you can help him? I know he's fifteen, but he's gifted, I tell you."
They had a lot of that too, or of decent families begging for better prospects for their child. They had contacts everywhere now and for most of those problems, there was a solution, even if it didn't match those parents' dreams.
"There was a flood in Riverton last month," Nori said, a stack of notes before her. "They still need workers. They'd teach you a bit of everything and if he's gifted, word will go round. If he isn't but he works hard, he'll find something. Here," she said, giving the woman a slip of paper with a contact.
The next man who entered had a proper suit and hands too pretty for a factory worker. Mags raised her eyebrows, because that man she hadn't expected to see.
Ford bowed his head at Mags before turning towards the others. "Ford Pelagius, ladies, I'm the banker."
"Nori, victor," Nori said appraisingly, shaking his outstretched hand. "I don't think I've ever met a banker."
Ford furrowed his brow. "Who manages your accounts?"
Nori cracked a smile and jabbed her thumb towards Mags, causing Ford to turn to her.
"I know a girl who's in debt, Mags," he began after a pause. "A girl who should be even more in debt. She's been stealing, that's the only possibility. I'd say stealing from the coral farms but -."
Mags frowned. But the coral farms were in an artificial lagoon and surrounded by wire, them being half-mutt breeds engineered in the Capitol and made to grow on the coast. Some coral escaped, broken off, but it didn't survive long among the jagged rocks and strong currents. It was so dangerous that even the brazen teenagers stayed away from those waters. The sea in Galene was hostile.
"Guardians?" Nori asked, her notebook out.
"None, her father died of accident in the glass factory a year ago. She's eleven now, born late August. The man lived his life borrowing a lot, and paying back more than should have been possible." Ford pursed his lips, his cheeks coloring slightly. "I don't go into people's business."
No, he'd never done but he didn't enable criminals either, and Mags had never found it hard to work with him. A thief then, a young, orphaned thief. "Why didn't you send her to an orphanage?"
Ford got even more self-conscious. "Cause she managed, I guess. Don't know much about orphanages, but not sure she'd be better off there. I figured I'd say nothing and… she's been okay, I guess." Ford straightened, a sigh escaping his lips. "I'm fond of Annie, Mags, she's a resourceful little thing, and FLASH can pay the debt off is she makes the cut. Just take a look at her."
"Full name?" Nori said.
"Annie Cresta, mother was a Martin, she died in childbirth."
Mags' mind was swirled with images of dark reefs behind the cutting nets of coral farms. She was trying to conjure a picture of the child, of what lay hidden behind Ford's cool facts. A single father borrowing money, either to cover up an addiction, but Ford didn't lend to addicts, or to pay for something else, maybe an illegitimate child? Medicine for him or for Annie? The girl couldn't be disabled, not if she had survived a year on her own. Few healthy children did.
"We'll see her, Ford," Mags said. "In the morning."
As the night descended on Galene, they had jotted down sixteen names for FLASH and close to twenty more for Jorah Goby. If the other years were any guide, they would leave with nine or ten new students from Galene and sort the others out.
Mags rubbed her eyes only to see numbers and letters flash and dance behind her eyelids. Capitol medicine had spared the curse of declining sight, but even they couldn't make eyes that withstood hours of peering at family registries, peacekeeper accounts and every other administrative paper that could cast some light on the eleven and twelve-year-olds they had been directed to.
Tomorrow would be a long and grueling day, but it was those days that gave meaning to her life.
"I'm getting married," Nori declared, sipping her coffee as Gilly finished clearing the dinner table. "You're invited. Cereus and family too of course."
Gilly gasped, but Mags just grinned. She'd wondered when Nori would bring it up.
Gilly dragged her chair right next to Nori, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "At fifty-seven?"
"Yes," Nori replied with a glower. "He's also in his fifties and I daresay that I'm not crumbling yet, Gilly."
The ten-or-so surgeries had a role in that, but Nori had never pretended to treasure naturalness, and after her paralysis had been cured, her face rendered symmetrical and the scars on her neck erased, she had joyfully adjusted her body to fit her desires. Mags had to admit the result was quite fetching, although a little too polished for Mags' tastes.
Mags' smirk stretched out to her ears. "Remolino Piers?"
"Can't hide anything for you," Nori admitted unabashedly.
Gilly huffed and crossed her arms. "No one ever tells me anything."
"You two have been flirting for twenty-three years, Nori," Mags said, a solid grin on her lips. Remolino hadn't even been divorced back then, although with a marriage in name only –courtesy of the family laws- and Nori cheering up like a lighthouse whenever he came to FLASH for maintenance and repairs, Mags had encouraged it.
"I enjoyed it," Nori said unabashedly. "Now I grew up and feel we're both up to a serious relationship. His children have been out for ages, but he didn't want to leave his mother, her soul be blessed, or his house, and I was not allowing that nasty dog in mine."
"You beast-hater," Gilly accused. She had five cats in her brightly-lit chaotic home, five carefully chosen female felines with distinct markings and personalities, subtly named Mags, Nori, Chelsea, Eirene and mini-me.
"Besides," Nori pursued unperturbed, "Lino used to smoke."
Mags had known, but her chest constricted all the same. Nori had built herself a solid and stable life, but even a strong scent of smoke had her hold her breath and rush away. A stubborn echo of that horrible, horrible arena made of mutt drugs and dehumanizing gases.
"So to sum up, Mama-in-law passed away, dog's dead, and now, does old Remolino have lung cancer or did he quit smoking out of love?" Gilly asked with a laugh.
It was with that in-your-face cheerful attitude and cutting humor that Gilly had won the sponsors' wallets. She'd cried more than any outlier when she had killed, but she'd cried it away. Gilly, her flippant abandoned child who'd lived her days at FLASH with no care for consequences, had laughed and cried everything away. Never trusting to begin with, Gilly switched off around strangers, hidden behind an invisible wall. Mags winced at the memory of the last stranger Gilly had let herself get close to. Who could have predicted that fragile, harmless boy would survive the nights' terrors and end up in the last two? Gilly hadn't laughed then, she hadn't laughed for a long time.
"He stopped out of sheer sexual frustration," Nori deadpanned. "I started wearing less and less clothes every time we met."
Gilly's face scrunched up in astonishment. "How much were you wearing for it to take twenty-three years to get naked?"
Mags laughed. She loved all four of her girls, but Nori and Gilly held a special place in her heart.
The next day.
"Sooo," Gilly said with a merry grin, "next up… Cresta, been stealing coral enough to make a profit and is still alive. Awesome swimmer and pretty clever at least. I like her already." Her eyes grew wide and pleading. "May we keep her, Mags?"
Mags laughed. It was an odd girl's day out, interviewing those poor children, seeing the look in their eyes as they walked in, sometimes brought by a total stranger who'd promised them safety and a future, and all too often thrown in by a pitiless relative hoping for an allowance.
Mags often wondered how many children they still missed, how many still suffered behind closed walls. She gestured for Annie to be led in. It was better to focus on those they saved.
She blinked, because Annie was lovelier than she had expected, although not much better fed. She didn't doubt Ford had told Annie to wash, but the child was impeccably clean, down to her shoes. Her brown hair was healthy and cut straight, and her nails were clean and round. Annie took care of her appearance and at that age, for an orphan, it was noteworthy.
"Hello Mags, Nori, Gilly," Annie said, her voice barely more than a trickle but her pale green eyes stopping on each one of them as long as manners permitted.
Annie quickly sat down, her legs swinging from the chair. "I tell you my stories, no lie, and you get me to FLASH," she said breathlessly, "that's the deal right? Mr. Ford said. No more worries about money or food and I work hard just for myself, for a job and a family and everything."
Mags gave her a warm smile. It wasn't common for them to be talkative straight away. It would make things much easier.
"Tell us what happened, and how you survived," Mags said. "And don't worry, we won't tell the peacekeepers anything."
"I wasn't stealing. I know Mr. Ford said, but it's not stealing beyond the gates," Annie said, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. "I dive for them and then I sell them back to a guy. He gives me money."
Gilly giggled, making Mags start. Gilly rarely participated.
"You think I'm lying?" Annie whispered, her eyes widening in outrage. "I can show you, you know. How I dive, and where. I can find the guy, and he'll tell you I've been selling to him ever since Da died."
Mags suspected 'the guy' would flee if he saw Annie accompanied by three victors. She was looking at Gilly, who now wore a tense smile.
"You dive into that," Gilly said, not meeting Annie's eyes, "it's enough to get into FLASH, Annie."
Annie bolted upright. "That's it, I can come?"
"Probably. Just answer a few questions," Nori said.
Annie was so quick to sit back down that Mags saw a blur of gray clothes.
"Do you have friends or adults you see often?"
"No," Annie replied, her green eyes wide open as if there was a light in her face. "I have to pay the money back, so I see Ford often."
Mags noted the lack of regret and knew 'often' meant 'once a month'. She jaw Nori jot down something too. Annie had the intellect of a child, but she didn't seem to have a child's preoccupations. It was hardly unique, but noteworthy still.
"Where does the debt come from?" Nori pursued. "Why did your father need so much money?"
Annie's shoulders slumped and her legs started swinging madly. "For me," she whispered. "For clothes and everything. He said… Da said I was his princess. I always had prettier things than the other girls. It was very important to him. He hated messes and holes and anything old or broken. He agreed it was sometimes too much, but he said he couldn't help it."
Mags swallowed. Galene's records stated the man had been a peacekeeper who'd retired with a five year pension after ten years of service, which meant he'd lived through something terrible enough the Capitol had let him go with a half-apology.
"Did he steal?" Nori asked, her tone practiced and impassive.
"Yes. He wasn't well, but he was a great dad," Annie muttered. There was no trace of shame in her voice.
"Who taught you to swim?" Nori pursued. "And how?"
Annie blinked at the change in subject. "Da. He just threw me in, and went after me until I could get back on my own. He waited longer and longer though. He said enemies should be conquered and so I had to swim far without fear."
Mags now had the certainty the man had been dire need of psychological help. It was a miracle Annie hadn't drowned in that angry sea.
"Do you miss him?" Mags said softly. With so little reaction when Nori had mentioned friends, Mags wished to make sure the girl was capable of feeling. She wasn't disappointed.
Annie's eyes filled with tears and the swinging intensified. "Da used to talk to Ma through the board," she whispered. "I'm not as good as he was, but sometimes, I think I hear an answer and I know he still watches, so..." She sniffed. "I try to make him proud."
Nori and Mags exchanged a glance. A smile broke Mags' lips. Annie Cresta was potentially an outstanding diver, and they always needed those, and while Mags knew they had barely scratched the surface of Annie's past, nothing had alarmed her yet.
"Pack up, Annie" she said, "don't do anything that may get a peacekeeper after you, stop worrying about money and we're leaving tomorrow, be here at nine AM. I'll tell Ford and FLASH will take care of your debt."
Annie jumped off the chair, she was just nodding at them, her mouth hanging open in awe, before she remembered she'd been given a task. She ran off without a word.
"No sense of danger, hopefully it's more age than education," Nori began, double checking her notes. "Very independent and may struggle with rules. She doesn't seem to miss having friends despite being quite isolated, but she listened to Ford and she's didn't seem to have problems with answering our questions. No moral issue with stealing, and she believes in spirits," Nori finished, her lips twitching.
"Don't forget to add that she's cute and very eager to come. All in all, much less depressing than the last three we saw," Gilly said with a grin. She chuckled. "I'd love to see that spirit board."
Mags stared at the door, her brain mulling over the brief interview. "Add a few details about her spotless appearance. Her dad kept telling her being pretty was more important that not being in debt or stealing. Add that she doesn't seem self-conscious or guilty about that fact."
It was always interesting to reread their first impressions when the children had settled in.
Year 63, April, FLASH.
The new train brought sickness, I'm sure of it, there's plenty of tasty-looking lettuce, strawberries and oranges, but the taste is off and there's been a bout of sicknesses, it's very concerning, it's not just bowel movements or the like. Something's in it, but it could be days before people realize it's the fruit and veggies.
Could you test them, Victors? Dozens are ill, my cousin's always so healthy, but he treated himself to strawberries, and now he's so bad. A kid died last night, it's poison, I'm sure it is.
With respect,
Maria West, carpenter, Lycorias.
Mags put the letter away, a deep frown creasing her brow. Gilly worked from home, organizing all the mail they received: news from all parts of Four, job prospects, projects or simple rumors, and sent to Mags those she personally might want to read.
If Maria West was right –and heaven knew they had dozens of false alerts a year - it was most probably pesticides. It could be honest neglect or… Either people in Eleven had over-treated, or a group in Six was messing with the chemistry. Mags suspected the latter; Eleven was too heavily monitored to manage something so subtle.
She stood up, deciding to go straight to the barracks. Peacekeepers ate the fruit too, and if the incoming shipment to Creneis came from the same orchards, the fruit had to be removed before the morrow's market.
Mags was torn from her thoughts when she heard shouting outside Instructor Rivers' office.
She decided to make a detour when she recognized Rhain's voice. The younger students always brought drama in their wake but Rhain wasn't one to seek trouble.
She winced when she saw the red-faced Rhain rip a book away from Annie.
"He wasn't using it, I wasn't going to keep it," Annie said, honest confusion all over her face.
"Liar, your room is full of stuff that isn't yours. It's mine!" Rhain said, cradling the book as if it was his most precious possession. He'd come from a very poor family in Lycorias, brought to be tested by both his parents. They'd been so proud and relieved when he'd confirmed his superior aptitude for mathematics. Everything Rhain had owned before FLASH was hand-me-downs, and not the nice kind.
Annie's eyes flickered to Mags in doubt - "Even when they're not using it?" Her face darkened. "My room is full of stuff I found."
"Rhain, you're supposed to study the storms, not burst your lungs to imitate thunder," Finnick called, flanked by his friends. His grin faded slightly when he saw Mags with Instructor Rivers.
"How do we know it wasn't anyone's before? Thief," Rhain spat, his voice noticeably lower.
They were an odd bunch, Finnick, handsome and cheerful with a confident smile, Marina, the fit tomboy who never stood still, with her short hair and overlarge clothes, tiny Krill, his eyes drinking in every minute detail, and Sheller, burly and stiff but quick to salute, because he wanted to be a peacekeeper even if he knew those times were past.
"We're all nutcases, give her a break, she's new. Just explain, Rhain, it works," Marina said, giving Annie a once over and sticking her hand out. "Marina."
"Why do you wear such large clothes?" Annie asked curiously when she finally figured what Marina meant with the hand. "You're pretty, you'd be prettier –"
Mags recognized the warning instantly, but her arm was too slow to block the blow. She grasped Marina's wrist a split second after it had collided with Annie's nose. A frustrated hiss escaped Mags' lips. Circe, her body was useless.
"Just explain it, it works," Mags pointedly said, stern but not angry, not the way Marina deflated and her eyes misted over in self-directed rage.
"Sorry," Marina whispered to the shell-shocked Annie, backing away.
Instructor Rivers was quick to catch her and lead her to her office. Mags was relieved to see them break into whispers. At least Marina had learned to trust them.
Finnick groaned, apology written all over his features. "You don't call Marina pretty, it's a rule."
"It still doesn't mean it's okay for anyone to hit you like that," Mags said, biting back a weary sigh.
She remembered Marina's mother's pleading eyes. "Take her, take her before she kills him. I never thought he'd… It turned her evil. Save her, I'll save myself from him. He's not the man I married."
"I keep forgetting them," Annie said, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "There are so many rules and most don't make any sense at all. It's not like you explain them," she added crossly, turning to Rhain.
She didn't take her words back when Rhain glowered, hugging his book all the harder. Mags knew they would have to teach Annie to censor herself if the girl wanted to avoid trouble.
"They make sense to those who make them. We'll respect your rules too, until you grow old enough not to need them," Finnick said. "Now what's your name?"
"Annie Cresta," she said now staring at Finnick wide-eyed.
"Okay, Annie Cresta, we'll show you around and teach you more of the rules. It gets complicated fast, but everyone gets it after a while."
"Don't feel too special," Rhain grumbled, "Finn shows everyone a little slow around."
"Okay," Annie said. "Is the rule about pretty just for Marina? Can I call you pretty?" She said, her smile growing as she drank in Finnick's features.
Finnick grinned, oblivious to his friends' eyerolls. "I'd prefer handsome."
Annie's lips twisted. "No boy's handsome unless he's got men's hair, Da said. Pretty."
Finnick blushed and Sheller looked suddenly much more appreciative of Annie. Marina was quick to run after them, leaving the two teachers alone.
"Annie is puzzling girl," Instructor Rivers mused, her full lips shaped into that special all-knowing smile that made the girls look up to her and the boys shiver at the thought of crossing her. "She is both self-sufficient and yet so naive, she behaves as if no one ever hurt her."
"Alyx, Rhain and Annie both are your –"
"I know how much you like to delegate, Mags, don't worry," Alyx Rivers said with a wink. She was a splendid woman in her forties, her curly hair taking an absurd amount of space, and Mags had come to rely on her more and more. "I will tell Rhain once more that he doesn't have to put anyone down to keep his friends, and I'll see if our little magpie truly doesn't register hostility or if she pretends not to notice."
"Magpie?" Mags said. "Annie's that much of a hoarder?"
"Annie takes everything that shines and puts it in her room." Alyx smiled. "I'll give you a full report, Mags, don't fret, you'll know everything."
Mags bit back the urge to stick her tongue out. "I need to run. I've had disturbing news from Lycorias."
"Run off then, Mags. The world needs you."
Mags hurried away, a rueful smile on her lips.
Year 63, August, 63rd Hunger Games, the Capitol.
Gloss from District One shifted on the huge screens, his abs glistening beneath his ripped shirt as he scanned the foggy waste for signs of life. Plutarch rubbed his stomach self-consciously.
"You know, instead of three useless days of training," Seneca said, his eyes drinking in Gloss' leonine frame. "We should teach the tributes to pose in front of the cameras. Aside from the Careers, they just never seemed to be angled right. It takes a ridiculous amount of editing to give them interesting air-time."
Plutarch nodded. "If they remain in the shadows, if they show no valor, their dying will not make an impression on the Districts."
District Six's modified pesticides had contaminated tons of fruit, vegetable, and grain, and it would remain just that, a waste, of food and lives, unless they could channel that rage and grief into something constructive. The rebellion from above had failed with Zephyr, it now had to come from below. The people had become desensitized and resigned, and it was Plutarch's mission to remind them that the situation was not tolerable. The bubble of hate was growing, centered in Eleven and Six, with Three and Eight deceptively calm and prepared to strike. Plutarch fed the hate, and waited for the bubble to pop.
Seneca smiled. "The arena twists their minds already. Who will notice some drugs?"
Plutarch kept his expression pleasant. They could not be more different, Seneca Crane, handsome, tall and groomed, the Capitol's rising star, the talented genius who had succeeded without fail until the President himself had appointed him Head Gamemaker at the record age of thirty-four. Plutarch was not handsome and hardly fashionable, too fat, too classic in his choice of outfits. He was charming and friendly, and most of all he seemed comfortable with the power he had. And that was why Seneca Crane was not suspicious of him. People said many things of Plutarch Heavensbee, but threatening was not a word they used.
"Wake them up, Plutarch. I want them full of fire," Seneca said, his eyes shining with anticipation.
Plutarch focused on his screen. He was the psychiatrist, the only trained doctor amongst them. It had been easy to convince them to put him in charge of sponsor gifts when so many of those were medicine of some kind. Too many times had a tribute died because a mentor had failed to account for secondary effects of a substance they'd read about in a catalogue.
Plutarch swallowed, remembering Mags' exhausted tears at the end of the thirty-eighth Games. "Seeder ripped her evening gowns to shreds. It will be better for her sanity if she stays away from social events. I think that until now, she really believed she would bring one home by being convincing enough. She's one of the strongest, I hope I won't have to see her fray away and wither, Plutarch."
He forced a small smile on his lips. Seeder had kept her head high, and what a remarkable woman she made.
The parachutes fell, and soon the shots took action. Four shivering, exhausted teenagers rose to their feet, an eerie cast to their faces. It was more than stimulants, more than just adrenaline, and Plutarch knew that if one of them won, their body would need a month to recover and their brain might be forever fried.
Forgive me, children. You will matter, I will make you matter.
"Send them painkillers," Seneca said, "it's going to be over too quickly otherwise."
Plutarch obeyed, a half-smile on his lips. It would be ghastly, visually, strikingly ghastly. He prayed it would not be in vain.
When the Careers marched on Asimov from Three, Gloss hung back.
"I won't insult you by implying you need my help," he told his allies. They'd all noticed the crouched boy was not reacting like he should.
"Pansy," Lance from Two said dryly, steroid-chiseled muscles ready to beat everything that stood between him and victory.
"If you start stinking of blood, Lance, I'm sleeping next to him," Dillian said, flashing Gloss a smile.
Plutarch's heart clenched. He knew the easy smile was angle, he knew that Dillian's pretty-girl-next-door look was calculated, that her and Mags had crafted it together, but with Four's tributes, it was harder to forget they were children.
"It won't work, Mags. You can't beat One and Two at their own game. They'll be stronger and more glamorous, you need to work around that," Glynn said.
Mags suddenly stood up. "Playfulness," she said. "It'll be a game for them. They'll be strong enough the Capitol won't write them off, and cheerful enough to make the Games seem light." She turned to them, anger and frustration plain on her face. "How do I find them, how do I make such excellent actors?"
"Passive-aggressive cheerfulness is a very fun weapon to wield. If you can't, go for sarcasm, go for prankster or sheer eccentricity and if they're silent and locked up," Glynn said, "make them be the mysterious one who won't join the Career pack."
"They'll love them," Plutarch said softly. "They'll weep for them. Mags, as long as they love them, Four will be allowed to train Careers. It won't just be Achlys doing you a favor anymore."
That smile could belong to anyone's daughter. To the daughter Plutarch never had, and that hurt. Plutarch nevertheless thanked Mags for it, because pain showed he hadn't forgotten who they fought for.
"Kill me, kill me like the monster you are!" Asimov challenged, spittle flying from his mouth. "Come on, you won't be branded a criminal, that's why you volunteered, isn't it? To be a criminal and be rewarded for it."
"Oy, Three, how'd you get in?" Dillian said, shaking her head. "Got no siblings of reaping age who cared? Wait a sec, you do have two brothers. Well, our Districts care about their little ones, fancy that," she said, punching Lance's arm as if they were old friends.
Mags had trained her well. Plutarch wondered if Dillian even knew, how by twisting the knife in the Districts' gaping wound she reminded them what they allowed in fear of the Capitol's whips and guns.
"Shut up! You're a criminal, just a criminal!"
"They probably thought they were more use to society than you were, after all Three is all such rational and educated folk,"Dillian said, her smile now ugly and tense.
Asimov roared. Drugged out of his mind, he plunged. Dillian stepped back, Lance came in, his sword a silver blur. He froze when he realized that Asimov hadn't even registered he'd lost an arm.
"What kind of painkillers did you give him?" Anastasia whispered from the sound and lighting station.
"Entertaining ones," Seneca cut in, a wolfish smile on his face. "Bravo."
Lance stared one second too long. Dillian's knife plunged into his back, severing his spinal cord. He slumped, his legs buckling. His scream cut off before he hit the ground.
"Don't mind me," Dillian told the panting Asimov. He was staring at his severed limb, his brain unable to process what he saw. "He killed my district partner. Vengeance is a dish best served cold," she added flippantly, pallor erasing her former smile. "Gloss, be gallant and kill Three for me. I'm feeling faint," she said, hastily backing off.
Gloss gracefully stepped in. "Anything for the lady," he said with a small smile.
Asimov snarled and grasped Lance's pathetically oversized sword, blood soaking his hands and clothes.
Plutarch looked away until the cannon sounded.
The boys from Ten and Seven didn't even need the Careers to set them off. Allies until the afternoon, the mix of drugs had first had them cheer at their newfound energy before slowly drowning them into chemically induced paranoia. They were rolling on the ground, clawing at each other and screaming like animals.
Seneca laughed. "Bravo, Plutarch, bravo! Your shift is over, unless you wish to wait for the outcome of this latest scuffle."
Scuffle. Seneca was such the perfect Head Gamemaker. The psychiatrist in Plutarch wondered if he could be fixed.
Unfortunately, Plutarch well knew he couldn't fix those who didn't want to change.
He was happy to excuse himself. "I have a date," Plutarch said, lifting his arm in greeting, "see you all in four hours."
He winced as he pushed the needle in his arm, all too aware of the painful withdrawal that would await him, but he could not do without the stimulants during the Games season. None of them did.
He opened the door to his apartment to see Cecelia Rheys on the sofa, her hair tumbling in waves on her naked shoulders and a shift of sheer material clinging to her body.
Plutarch caught himself staring at her silky legs. Such a sensual woman. On the days nostalgia gripped him, he wished he and Rhapsody Valens could have fallen in love, but what he loved was innocence and cheer, and a woman like Rhapsody who knew who he was, a woman he could be on equal footing with, would only live in fear.
But it didn't matter, because the thrill made up for it. Plutarch gazed upon Cecelia and he knew he could crush her or save her life. It was that pivotal role he lived for, the man paving the way for the rebellion. One wrong word and their network could come crashing down, one wrong word and Mags would vanish without a trace, but the right words, and he could save lives and change the world.
Relationships were the comfort of normal people. Plutarch controlled the shadows, the force of good creeping through the cracks, slowly infiltrating the Capitol, ready to liberate the Districts. Cecelia embodied desire, but no woman could compare to the cause they served.
"Get dressed, we are leaving for dinner," he told her with a smile.
Cecelia had known of course, and yet she seemed eager to distract him. Plutarch suspected she feared him, because he didn't want her body –well, not if he had to pay-, and therefore he escaped her control.
He couldn't help a grin when she let the robe slide to her feet and leisurely went to choose an outfit.
"I've been watching the Games from here," Cecelia said breathily. "The fog is thick and they are heading towards an open space. Will it be like last year's tundra arena, with birds carrying the cameras?"
Hummingrecords, it had been his idea and Plutarch was proud of it. Seneca Crane loved novelty, ostentatious technology and outrageous interference, and that was too good an opportunity to miss.
He gave Cecelia a small smile. He had been wondering when she would start asking about the things that mattered. He wondered if he should allude to Eight's tributes, but he decided it would be indelicate to force a closeness that did not exist between them.
Plutarch therefore launched himself into an explanation about visual and lips reading softwares, on radio, routers and the limits of wireless and how to get phone lines in the outer districts.
"But we always hear the tributes in the mentors' room," Cecelia pointed out. She had been very silent during his explanation and Plutarch was confident she would remember every word. "Even when they aren't facing a camera and they're talking low."
"The tracker isn't the only thing we give you. In outdoors setting we'd need to put microphones absolutely everywhere to get movie-quality sound. You all had an ear-chip. It charges wirelessly."
Her eyes widened so drastically that Plutarch chuckled. The Capitol always knows when you have rebellious thoughts. The Capitol hears every whisper. It was drilled into their minds, and reinforced by the Districts' ignorance of how technology really worked. Conspiracy theories were cherished and fed by the authorities, the arrests just theatrical enough to ground the suspicions, but the near totality of the Capitol's information depended on District collaborators.
"Which dress do you prefer?" Cecelia finally asked, holding up a couple against her naked skin for him to choose.
Plutarch blinked. "The red and black one," he said, deciding both would look good either way.
"I've been getting much less attention," Cecelia said as she changed, "now that you take me out for all to see." Her tone was much less seductive and much more genuine.
Plutarch tore his eyes away from her body and smiled, suspecting he looked like a content cat. "In the Capitol, women of charms change their faces for their clients, wearing elaborate masks and makeup. They are paid to maintain the illusion of exclusivity. While it was an open secret, you were highly desirable, but now you are my escort, you have lost most of what makes you so fashionable and mysterious."
Cecelia laughed, a deep throaty laugh that brought a pleased flush to Plutarch's tone. "So I'm used goods now, ridiculously expensive used goods." She chuckled again, but slowly her expression turned grave. "I want children."
"You've got the best of Eight to offer them and a lot can happen in twelve years," Plutarch said carefully, but he knew he believed it. "Forget the statistics, take the risk." Too few victors managed to find happiness.
Cecelia inhaled, her expression far away. "I don't want a husband. I don't think I could trust a man like that and I have an unhealthy rapport to intimate relations. You have better genes than anyone I could find in Eight."
Plutarch failed to disguise his shock. "Cecelia, if I ever have children, I will raise them," he said coolly, sudden outrage tightening his features. What kind of man did she think -
"A lot can happen in twelve years," Cecelia replied, her smile bitter-sweet. "Don't mistake me, I don't fantasize about you, but I'm pragmatic enough to figure you're safe, Gamemaker," she added, playing with the word as if it made little sense anymore.
Plutarch eyed her warily, more shaken than he dared admit by her demand to be a sperm donor. Who asked that out of the blue unless they were stone drunk? He suspected the temptation to see him off balance had been too high, but now he wondered…
"No other questions?" He said, his tone much too bland to fool Cecelia.
"The Districts are no place for such questions," Cecelia replied, echoing his deceptive calm. "Last year, I thought Mags owed you a favor and that she figured you'd be less bad than the others. I thought you liked a slow game. Instead I find myself owing both of you," she turned to him, her expression hard and serious. "When you'll want me, whatever the task, I will be there."
Plutarch smiled. "Dinner first," he said, extending his hand.
Indulging himself with the company of a beautiful young woman was hardly the most unpleasant task Mags had given him over the years.
Closing note:
I wrote the last scene with Cecelia because many reviewers seemed confused but what Mags really meant when she asked Plutarch to buy her. I hope the chapter answered all the questions, especially the ones by guest reviewers, if not, ask again and I will strive to answer explicitly in the next author's note.
Please review^^.